


The Greater Sword

by Carmarthen Juvenilia (Carmarthen)



Series: Euphemisms [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Crack, Embarrassing Old Fic, Humor, Innuendo, Juvenilia, M/M, Sexual Tension, Swords & Fencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen%20Juvenilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir polishes his sword; Aragorn watches and taunts. Much innuendo ensues.</p><p>Virtual brownies to sparky (who submitted the original "suggestive sword-sharpening fic" challenge), Deejay, and Nanda for double-entendre inspiration and the whole Fellow_Ship list for support, encouragement, and fun conversations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Greater Sword

**Author's Note:**

> My excuse: I was in high school at the time.

Boromir was braced against a tree, his hands moving rapidly and efficiently on his great sword.

"What are you doing, Boromir of Gondor?"

Boromir jumped and cut himself, cursing. He looked around. "Where are you?"

Aragorn stepped into the clearing, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You did not tell me what you were doing."

"I am polishing my sword, as any fool could see," Boromir said, gesturing at the cloth, sharpening stone, and vial of oil in front of him. "I was about to oil my mail."

"Were you?" Aragorn said, a small smile that could best be described as a smirk playing about his lips. He crossed the clearing and crouched before Boromir, picking up the vial of oil. "How...prudent of you."

"Take a seat, Aragorn son of Arathorn," Boromir growled, snatching the vial out of Aragorn's hand.

"You do not like me," Aragorn observed, sitting cross-legged on the moss of the forest floor.

"It is not that I do not like you. I simply do not trust you with charge of my people."

"Your people." Aragorn arched one eyebrow.

"My people," Boromir replied, a defiant look in his eyes. "For they are mine, not yours."

"'He triumphs who has the greater sword?'" Aragorn asked.

"Perhaps."

Aragorn was crouching before Boromir again before the man could blink, his fingers interlaced with Boromir's on the sword's hilt and his face so close their breaths mingled. "Have you never heard, Boromir of Gondor, that it is not size that matters--" In one smooth movement, Aragorn was standing, Boromir's sword in his hand and the point at Boromir's throat. Aragorn's eyes flickered downward for a moment and he grinned wickedly. "--but how you use it?"

Boromir pressed himself back into the tree in a futile attempt to put distance between himself and the point of his own sword. As arrogant as a bloody elf, Aragorn was. "I cannot say that I have."

Aragorn seemed to relax, and he removed the sword from Boromir's throat, handing it back hilt-first. He did not release the hilt when Boromir went to take it, but asked in a husky voice, "And would you toy with my sword as I have with yours?"

"No," Boromir said, shaking his head. "A sword so noble as yours is not to be toyed with."

"I think," Aragorn said, slowly relinquishing the sword to Boromir's capable hands, "I think I might make an exception this time."


End file.
